I remember my mother ‘going to Clifton’. Clifton hospital near York. On googling, I find there was a county asylum there until around 1994. I’ve no idea if this was the place but she was gone for what seemed a while in a young girls life. She made me a fur cat pyjama case which I loved but made me feel weird at the same time. Like why was my mum in hospital when she hadn’t looked ill? Why was she somewhere doing sewing things?
We stayed at dad’s and once we got used to the normalacy I know I remember the feeling of safety and reassurance. Clean vests and ravioli, chips and peas for tea after school. My step mum was loving, organised and efficient. Regular bedtimes, clean clothes and love. What children need. But underneath, as always I was being scared for my mum.
When it was time to go live with mum again, I remember telling her I didn’t want to. I remember the incredulous look on her face. I couldn’t be arsed playing her mother anymore. But I still went back.